


Satin

by nameless_bliss



Series: Alec Lightwood Deserves Nice Things [2]
Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec's POV, Body hate, Clothing and Gender, Established Relationship, Explicit Language, Insecure Alec Lightwood, Internalized Toxic Masculinity, M/M, Magnus is a good boyfriend, Negate Self-Image, Present Tense, Slight Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-30
Updated: 2016-03-30
Packaged: 2018-05-30 03:43:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6407338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nameless_bliss/pseuds/nameless_bliss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He should take them off. He needs to take them off. He has no right to be wearing these. He’s not allowed to wear these. He’s not allowed to wear something like this. He’s not allowed to have something this pretty."</p><p>Magnus won't be home for a few hours. Alec wasn't planning to go snooping through his closet. And he certainly wasn't planning to try anything on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satin

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Атлас](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193782) by [fandom_Shadowhunters_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fandom_Shadowhunters_2017/pseuds/fandom_Shadowhunters_2017), [TylerAsDurden](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TylerAsDurden/pseuds/TylerAsDurden)



Alec hates using his key. He’s no more comfortable using it now than he was two and a half months ago, when Magnus fist gave it to him.

It was a gesture, and a pretty big one at that. Magnus hadn’t actually _used_ a key to lock his apartment for many years - he’d gotten keys made just so he could give one to Alec. And Alec understands the significance of that, he really does, but that doesn’t make it any easier for him to walk into his boyfriend’s loft without so much as knocking. Or even worse, to walk into his boyfriend’s loft when he isn’t even there.

Which is what he’s doing now.

And it’s taking every ounce of his confidence, just to open the door.

Magnus had scheduled a consultation later in the week with a potential client who promised to be very lucrative. Lucrative enough that Alec hadn’t minded when said client insisted on moving up their meeting by two days, right at the last minute - and who had also insisted on meeting Magnus in the middle of Central Park? Alec hadn’t quite caught all of the details. But it had meant that Magnus needed to delay their date, which they’d had planned all week. It wasn’t much, just dinner and a night on the couch watching bad tv. But they haven’t really spent any time together in almost two weeks now… which Alec knows isn’t actually that big of a deal, but it’s unusual for them, and he doesn’t feel guilty about being as excited as he is.

Magnus won’t be home for another hour or two, at the very least. But Alec had already insisted that he needed to skip his evening training with Jace to be here in time for dinner, so he hadn’t seen much point in hanging around the Institute until Magnus made it home.

It makes perfect sense. And it’s a perfectly valid reason to let himself into Magnus’s loft when Magnus isn’t there. He knows this. He _knows_ it.

But he still feels sick to his stomach as he closes the door behind him, hesitating a moment before locking it. It’s not his home. And however much he enjoys being here (and he’s starting to realize that he enjoys being here more than anywhere else), he knows he’s just a guest. He can come and go as he pleases, but the _go_ part of that is always a guarantee. He’s temporary. A temporary anomaly. He bears no permanence here… or anywhere else in Magnus’s life.

He grimaces, because that was pretty fucking maudlin, even for him.

Luckily, he’s shaken out of his gloom by a sudden dart of movement in the otherwise still apartment. Chairman Meow seems to appear out of nowhere, running up to Alec and pouncing on his shoes like he’s a mouse and not a giant, dangerous person. The cat meows in clear disappointment when he realizes that Alec’s shoes are not, in fact, edible.

“Hey, Chairman,” Alec says quietly as he slips his key into the pocket of his jacket. He bends down to scoop the cat off the floor. “I don’t know the rules in this situation. Have you had dinner? Do I feed you? Where does Mags keep your food?”

As always, there’s a moment where the Chairman goes limp, letting himself be cradled in Alec’s arms, purring happily. Then, with no warning, the moment’s over, and he hisses and squirms until he falls gracefully back to the ground. He scampers away, padding lightly on the hardwood floor. He trots right into the bedroom, seeming to be perfectly content, so Alec assumes he must not be hungry.

Though this had seemed like such a logical plan when Alec had left the Institute, he looks around the dark apartment and realizes… he has no idea what the fuck to do now. So much of Magnus’s life is casually interwoven with his magic that there are several aspects of his loft that aren’t Shadowhunter-friendly. Like the lights. Alec knows where the light switches are in the bedroom, the bathroom, and the kitchen (he knows them well enough that he could find them in his sleep - he thinks he might actually _have_ at some point). But the main room? He’s not entirely sure there even _are_ any lights. Whenever Magnus walks in, he gives the slightest flick of his wrist, and the whole place is illuminated. Alec had always just… assumed that there were light fixtures somewhere that were responding to his magic, and that they’d all have mundane methods of operation as well. But looking around in the glow of the city lights through the windows, he’s suddenly unsure.

While he may be uncertain about how the lights work, he’s _completely_ certain that standing there stupidly in the dark trying to figure out how the lights work will make him feel like an absolute moron. So he makes his way to the bedroom, and feels more satisfied than he should when he flicks on the light switch. Chairman Meow is nowhere to be seen, but he figures that’s a good thing.

The door to the attached bathroom is open, and he can see the reflection of the light in the mirror. He thinks about the shower, and as if on cue, he can suddenly feel every bead of sweat that’s gathered on him during his walk here from the Institute. It’s not like it’s a gross sweat, one that _needs_ to be showered away before he sees Magnus. But it’s been a long, exhausting day. And the excuse to spend a few minutes in Magnus’s shower (undoubtedly the best shower he’s ever experienced) is almost too good to pass up. It’s not like he has literally _anything else_ to be doing right now. And he’s showered here enough times that it doesn’t feel like an intrusion anymore, so this might be the only thing he can actually bring himself to do until Magnus gets home.

He checks his phone, to see if Magnus has sent him any updates.

Nothing. Like he expected.

So there’s really no reason _not_ to…

This is familiar territory. He’s done this before. Flick on the lights, spare a moment to take in the sheer extravagance of the luxurious bathroom, and get to work. He folds his clothes carefully as he strips them off, unable to leave anything resembling a _mess_ in someone else’s space.  

It’s a strange feeling, being naked in Magnus’s bathroom when he isn’t there. He would have assumed it’d be easier than being naked in someone else’s presence (because _that_ had been quite a process, Alec getting comfortable enough with his own body to let Magnus even see it), but somehow there’s something… almost _dirty_ about it. Alec knows that’s ridiculous; it’s not like he’s planning on doing anything inappropriate. He’s just taking a shower. It’s literally the _opposite_ of dirty. But it’s still strange enough that he feels like he can’t let himself relax; he has to get himself in and out as quickly as possible, like he’s proving that his intentions are innocent.

It’s an almost comically immense shower, frosted glass and richly colored tile, with shelves upon shelves packed with various products - even though he’s only ever seen Magnus use the same four bottles. The knobs and nozzles that control the water are stupidly complex, but Alec’s got a fairly good grasp on their functions by now. It only takes him two tries to get hot water to stream down from the highest jet.

Stepping under the steaming hot spray, Alec’s reminded why he’s always so eager to find an excuse to shower here instead of at home. His shower at the Institute is a tiny, drab _stall,_ where even the warm water doesn’t last, and his soap smells like hand sanitizer. The towels are thin and scratchy, and the bathroom is always cold. _Always_ miserably cold. Alec understands it on principle, sort of. There aren’t any luxuries at the Institute. It’s a place for work, a place with purpose. Long, indulgent showers would be a waste of everyone’s time and water. Showers are designed to be short, functional, and militaristically plain.

The downside is that after all these years, Alec’s been so deeply programmed to take perfunctory showers that even in Magnus’s _spa_ of a bathroom, he physically _can’t_ let himself linger. And tonight there’s the added rush, the hint of fear that he’ll still be in here when Magnus gets home - even though he knows perfectly well that that’s downright impossible, and more importantly, that Magnus wouldn’t _care._ Hell, Magnus would probably be _thrilled_ to come home after a long, boring meeting to find his boyfriend stark naked and soaping himself.

But the need to rush still nags at the back of his mind, and he knows he can’t fight it, so he’s reaching for the shampoo before he’s even gotten his hair wet. Even though he’s counted no less than seven different kinds of shampoo on the shelves, there’s only one that he ever uses. Sandalwood. The same as the bodywash, and the facewash, and damn near everything else Magnus ever comes into contact with. Alec’s pretty sure that Magnus has been singlehandedly keeping the sandalwood-scented body product industry afloat for a least a few centuries now. Alec used to choose these bottles by default, just because it was what he’d seen Magnus use, and he didn’t want to accidentally pour some sort of toxic potion onto his head. But lately, it’s turned into something… else.

Because Magnus always gets… a certain way when Alec comes out of the shower smelling like _his_ soaps. He can’t count the number of times that Magnus has pressed his face against Alec’s neck, or between his shoulder blades, and just… breathed him in. He doesn’t think warlocks have an enhanced sense of smell, but it’s always like Magnus just knows. The moment Alec steps out of the shower, or gets into bed, or gets up in the morning, Magnus is there, smelling his skin like sandalwood is some sort of all-powerful pheromone.

Alec knows that’s it’s pure possessiveness, and that it should probably seem overbearing, Magnus literally covering Alec in his own signature scent. Like he’s marking his territory. Like he’s claiming him.

But maybe… maybe Alec likes to feel claimed.

Maybe he likes to know that there’s someone who wants him enough to mark him like that. To leave some sort of hint that tells everyone else: ‘Even when I’m not with him, this one is still _mine._ ’ That Magnus _wants_ him, and wants everyone else to know that.

Alec figures that it’s probably a fucked up way of thinking, but he finds the idea thrilling. And… comforting.

Comforting enough that he’s smiling like an idiot as he shampoos. Because he can already imagine how Magnus will bury his nose in Alec’s hair when they’re tucked into bed later that night. And though the scent fades pretty quickly, he knows he’ll still be able to tell when he gets back to the Institute tomorrow morning. He’ll still smell like Magnus. He’ll still be claimed. The thought is so exhilarating that he can feel it course through his limbs.

Things get a bit more complicated when he starts washing his body. He uses Magnus’s spa gloves (which had initially felt like torture-by-sandpaper, but now are the only way Alec feels like his callused skin can really get _clean_ ), so his touch isn’t soft or gentle… but he can only spend so long rubbing his body under scalding hot water before his mind starts to wander. Because even though he’s spent a good deal of time alone in this shower, he’s spent significantly more time… _not_ alone. And apparently this is the perfect opportunity for his brain to show him every single memory he has of times like that, all at once. By the time he starts washing his thighs, the shower feels about fifty degrees warmer, and it has nothing to do with the water temperature.

This wasn’t something he’d been planning. It hadn’t even crossed his mind. Of _course_ it hadn’t, because if he can barely stand being in Magnus’s apartment without him there, something like _this_ is completely unthinkable.

He can just imagine it:

‘So Alexander, what have you been up to?’

‘Oh, you know, just jacking off all over your fancy shower tiles.’

The idea is enough to make him shiver with anxiety. Suddenly, the spell of the hot shower is broken, and he’s back to Institute levels of speed washing, wanting to get out of there as soon as possible. He’s fully washed and rinsed in less than two minutes, and it’s a relief to turn off the water and let himself cool down.

He grabs one of the thick, fluffy towels that’s always slung over the shower door, rubbing himself down quickly before wrapping it around his hips. When he slides the door open, he sees that the steam has fogged up the mirror, so thoroughly that he’s just a pale, vaguely person-shaped blob. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how much of a relief that is, but… he supposes he just did. Mirrors aren’t quite the enemy they used to be, but he’s still not a big fan of seeing himself when he doesn’t need to. His face is bad enough, but looking at his body is just downright uncomfortable.

The threat of the slowly-clearing mirror is enough to get Alec out of the bathroom, eager to put some clothes back on. He hates taking a shower and having to put on clothes he’s already worn, feeling like it lessens the impact of truly getting _clean_. Luckily, over the several months they’ve been together, he’s amassed a sort of mini-wardrobe to keep in Magnus’s closet. It started by a combination of coincidence and convenience - Alec would bring clothes to change into when he spent the night, so he wouldn’t have to come back to the Institute the next day obviously wearing the same thing. Then he’d forget the clothes he’d been wearing the night before. And then he’d forget that he’d forgotten, and bring another outfit the next time. And the cycle repeated, over and over again until he admitted that it was just _practical_ to always keep a few full, clean outfits at his boyfriend’s apartment. And it was nice, it really was, to get to come up to the loft after a mission and trade his gear for threadbare sweatpants before collapsing on the couch. It was… homey. Domestic. They weren’t living together, and it didn’t feel like they were, but it was still an oddly warm feeling to know that he had his own little section in Magnus’s closet.

 _Little_ being the keyword.

Magnus’s closet is something else. Alec’s pretty much convinced that it’s bigger than his entire bedroom at the Institute. Everything’s arranged by some sort of intensely intricate system that he knows he’ll never fully understand. But tucked in the far right corner, there’s a space where Magnus’s collection of silk robes abruptly ends, making way for a few hangers carrying faded, ratty, fairly pathetic grays and blacks. T-shirts, sweaters, sweatpants, and jeans. The colossal dresser is pushed up against the adjacent wall, and Alec’s socks and underwear have their own drawer. He can only imagine that it’s a herculean test of Magnus’s restraint to have to look at Alec’s sorry excuse for ‘clothing’ in the same space as Magnus’s exquisite wardrobe. And for that small sacrifice, Alec is grateful.

In some sense, it’s a little thrilling to open the door to Magnus’s closet when he isn’t home. Because this is the inner sanctum. Yeah, Magnus may have hutch full of antiques and magical artifacts spanning centuries of history (and probably totaling over a few million dollars in value), but really, _this_ is where he keeps his most prized possessions. Alec is well aware that getting to step into Magnus’s closet unsupervised is a huge sign of trust, and he feels a little more honored than he probably should as he flicks on the light.

And it’s…

By the Angel.

It’s fucking _chaos_.

It’s like a tornado came through. A particularly angry tornado. A tornado that only attacks clothes.

Even though he literally _just_ turned on the light, Alec’s first impulse is to wonder how this is his fault.

The moment passes quickly, as he realizes that no, he obviously had nothing to do with this.

He’s never seen the closet like this. He’s never seen so much as one sequin out of place. Now there’s an entire drawer upturned and emptied on the carpet. There are hangers everywhere, only about half of them still attached to clothing. The only indication that there was any method to the madness is a thin trail of empty space on the floor, leading from the doorway to the massive floor-to-ceiling mirror at the back of the room.

Alec had known Magnus’s client had changed the meeting at the last minute, and that Magnus must have had to get ready pretty quickly… but this?

How could one person cause _this much damage_ just trying to pick out a single outfit?

Well, if anyone could, it was Magnus.

Alec’s seen him make some pretty extravagant messes while choosing his outfits. He’d just never really thought through how and when the messes get cleaned up. Magnus must not have had time to magic everything back into place before running out the door.

It’s… it’s actually kind of… interesting. With everything arranged so carefully on the various racks and shelves, the wardrobe tends to meld into one colorful, sparkling blur. Alec’s never been able to give much thought to the individual pieces of clothing. But now, all he has to do is glance down, and it’s like a small history lesson on the fashion industry. In just the space directly around his feet, he can see several blazers, a pair of incredibly small gold shorts, and what seems to be a woman’s hat from a few hundred years ago, giant feathers sticking out in every direction. A few steps in, there’s a pile of pants in literally every color Alec can imagine. The top of the dresser is strewn with enough jewelry to supply a small boutique, and hanging off the corner is… what looks to be a… very slinky black dress.

Though he doesn’t want to loot around in Magnus’s things (particularly not something as treasured as his _clothes_ ), he can’t help but pick up the dress, partly to see if it _is_ actually a dress, and partly to see… yeah… it looks like it’s Magnus’s size. He’s never… he’s never seen Magnus wear anything like this. He supposes it’s not really much of a surprise, given everything else he _has_ seen him wear, but still… it’s something. He takes a second to hold the dress up to the mirror, trying to imagine how it would look on Magnus. It’d probably be tight, clinging to him just right around his chest and waist. There’s a slit up one side, and it looks high enough to show off his entire leg, all the way up his thigh…

Alec’s eyes trail up the silhouette of the dress in the mirror… until they reach his own face. He suddenly realizes that he’s holding the dress up to himself, and the image makes his heart drop into his stomach so violently that he has to quickly toss the dress aside to recover himself.  

He’s breathing a little heavy, and he doesn’t understand why, and he doesn’t like it. So he moves quickly to the corner of the closet, to his little island of drabness in the sea of elegance. He sees it like a mark he’s left on Magnus’s life, a small piece of Alec that’s always left behind here. But it’s dark, and drab, and ugly, so he tries to push that idea aside as he grabs a t-shirt and a pair of jeans (both of which are that particular shade of gray that’s only achieved by not knowing how to correctly wash something that started out black). He turns back to the dresser to fish out a pair of boxers-

And almost trips over Chairman Meow. The cat has set himself up on a little throne of discarded clothes, right next to the drawer that Magnus had pulled all the way out of the dresser in his haste. The Chairman is fast asleep, and doesn’t notice Alec nearly falling all over himself to avoid stepping on him.

“Hey, are you supposed to be there, Chairman?”

The Chairman only wakes up when he hears his name, uncoiling from his nap with that little ‘brrrrrp!’ cat sound. He blinks slowly at Alec before rolling over to stretch his legs. But rolling over dislodges him from his throne, and with his makeshift bed officially ruined by Alec’s presence, he dashes out into the bedroom.

Alec kneels next to the abandoned pile, making sure the Chairman didn’t get too much hair on Magnus’s clothes. Unsurprisingly, he did. Alec sets his own clothes next to him and tries to brush the worst of it off, knowing that cat hair isn’t even remotely his fault, but still feeling like it’s his responsibility to keep things in order while Magnus isn’t home.

After a few moments trying to scrape the hair onto the carpet, he finally realizes what exactly he’s touching.

The entire pile is underwear. And…

Alec’s mouth dries up.

He picks up the pair on the top of the pile. ‘Underwear’ doesn’t really seem like the right word. This is… this is a few strands of silver, attached to a… he can barely handle the idea… a _pouch_ , that hardly looks big enough to hold _anything_ , much less…

Before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s dropped that and picked up another pair. This one’s the brightest shade of fuchsia he’s ever seen, and while the booty-short design means that a more reasonable amount is _covered_ , there are several strategic rips in the fabric that mean more than enough would still be exposed.

He picks apart the pile, spreading it out onto the carpet. It’s a hurricane of colors, glitter, bows, ribbons, silk, and so many other luxurious fabrics he doesn’t have a name for.

It’s not entirely a shock. Just because many (well… _most_ ) of Magnus’s pants don’t allow enough room for underwear, it doesn’t mean Alec’s never seen him wear it before. And what he has seen fits stylistically with the pile in front of him. He’s seen Magnus is colorful, pretty little things like this before.

But it’s one thing to see your boyfriend in a black thong, and quite another to have his entire collection of lingerie in your hands.

This was something else he hadn’t learned until he started dating Magnus. He wasn’t completely ignorant about lingerie - enough mixups in the laundry room had left him _unfortunately_ aware of just what sort of things Isabelle keeps in her underwear drawer - but he genuinely hadn’t known that the same types of things were made for men. Not until the first time he’d tentatively slipped his hand down the back of Magnus’s jeans and felt a thin scrap of _lace_ where he’d been expecting the same utilitarian boxers he’d been wearing his whole life.

To be honest, after the initial shock, he hadn’t thought much about it. Yeah, it’s a little exciting to slowly push Magnus’s pants down his hips, knowing there might be something gorgeously unexpected beneath them, but besides that… it’s just another part of being with Magnus. Just one he hadn’t been expecting.

But now, with all of this lingerie spread out in front of him…

He’s giving it a bit more thought than usual.

He traces his hands slowly across the variety of fabrics, feeling the differences against his fingertips. There’s almost a hint of reverence in it; he knows this stuff is important, and _not_ his to be touching like this. But he can’t help himself. It’s… fascinating. He picks up another pair of…

‘Underwear’ doesn’t seem like the right word. It’s too big, and clunky, and it sounds inherently unattractive. The crap _he_ wears is ‘underwear’. This is different, it’s…

He hates the word ‘panties’. _Hates_ it. It’s nasal, and somehow sounds simultaneously childish and dirty. But not dirty in a good way. Dirty in a way you don’t want to think about when you’re talking about underwear.

But however much he hates that word, he doesn’t have a better one right now. Maybe there’s something else, some technical term, but he doesn’t know it. And stuck with only ‘underwear’ or ‘panties’... he has to admit that ‘panties’ seems like a more accurate description of the piece of clothing he’s holding up.

These… he rolls his eyes… these _panties_ are almost blindingly white. And while they’re a pretty standard shape, they’re so _small_ that Alec doesn’t understand how Magnus can fit into them. He turns them over, rubbing the soft fabric between finger and thumb. The back seems just as insufficient as the front, except there’s…

There’s a _hole,_ right in the middle. Alec narrows his eyes in confusion. Why the fuck would anyone want a big hole in their underwear? It’s right in the center, right in the ass-

“Oh, by the Angel-!”

He tosses the panties across the closet, face instantly burning both with embarrassment at his own stupidity, and also at the thought of…

He distracts himself by grabbing another pair, whichever one he touches first. He spreads them between his hands, partly terrified that it’ll be something as obscene as the last pair. But then he takes a look at them, and…

Huh.

He flips them over, looking at the back. Then he turns to the front again. Then he slips his fingers into the sides and spreads them apart, trying to get a more accurate idea of the shape of them.

Because they’re- yeah. They’re…

They’re shaped the way he expects women’s panties to be shaped, with delicate, swooping curves on every angle. The back is made of some unbearably soft fabric that he can’t name, and it’s the nicest shade of pink he’s ever seen. Light, and definitely pastel, but still colorful, not washed out or faded. What would Magnus call this color? Blush? Rose? The top inch or two of the panties is a border of pure lace, thick enough to look opaque instead of sheer. The lace is that same gorgeous pink color, but maybe a shade or two lighter. He turns the panties over carefully in his hands. The lace trim trails to the front, taking over the other fabric in a beautifully intricate pattern. And at the very front, it’s just the lace. Nothing else, except a tiny ribbon bow right at the top, a slightly darker pink than the rest of it. It’s all lace, following the v-shape of hip bones, down between the legs.

Just lace, nothing else to cover… and yeah, it’s pretty thick lace, but you’d probably still be able to _see_ …

Alec realizes that his heart is pounding so hard, he can hear it in his ears. There isn’t enough air in here. Because these are… and they’re just, right there. Right in his hands. These panties are the most beautiful piece of clothing he’s ever seen, and they’re _right here._

And he’s alone. Even Chairman Meow has abandoned him. Magnus said he’d be back sometime after seven, and it can’t be any later than five-thirty right now.

He’s just showered, and he needs to get dressed. He’s still naked apart from the towel that’s barely staying put around his hips. He needs to put on some underwear.

And these panties are right here. Right in his hands.

He and Magnus aren’t the same size. They’ve swapped shirts before (and though Magnus will never admit it, Alec knows for a fact that he’ll put on one of Alec’s horrible sweatshirts when he’s feeling lonely), but they’ve always known each other’s pants wouldn’t even be worth trying.

But these are different. There’s barely anything to them in the first place, how bad could they be? And while Alec and Magnus wear different sizes, they aren’t really all that different in basic shape. At any rate, they’re similar enough that it couldn’t hurt… just to _see…_

He can feel each drop of blood rushing through his veins as he stands up, leaving the towel on the floor.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He slips in one foot, then the other.

He shouldn’t be doing this.

He slides the panties up his legs.

He _can’t_ be doing this.

He carefully shimmies the panties up his hips, hyper-aware of how delicate the fabric is, how easy it’d be to tear.

He has no right to be doing this.

He smooths the fabric across his hip bones, trailing his fingers forward to awkwardly get himself adjusted within the lace between his legs.

He should take them off. This is his _boyfriend’s underwear;_  he shouldn’t even be looking through it, much less putting it on like he owns it. He tries to imagine how he’d feel if Magnus put on a pair of his boxers when he wasn’t there. The thought - however hypothetical - is futile, because he’s well aware that there’s no force on earth that could make Magnus Bane put on one of those ratty pieces of garbage.

He should take them off. He needs to take them off. He has no right to be wearing these. He’s not allowed to wear these. He’s not allowed to wear something like this. He’s not allowed to have something this pretty-

His breath hitches.

Because that’s not… that’s not the problem here. The problem is that this is someone else’s clothing, and he’s wearing it without permission. It has nothing to do with what the clothing _is,_ or that it’s…

One of his hands is still trailing over the fabric, fingertips tracing a circle around his hip before slipping back, feeling the seam where the lace trim changes to that soft fabric, the softest he’s ever felt.

They don’t quite feel how he wants them to. Or, how he _expected_ them to. They feel too tight in places, and too loose in others. He’s not sure if that’s because they actually don’t fit right, or if he’s just not used to something like this. They don’t even come close to covering his ass, but they’re cut so high in the back, he thinks that might be intentional. And he’s never worn anything that’s supposed to fit around the shape of his dick like this. It’s… strange. It’s definitely strange.

But, at the same time…

Everything is soft. Even the lace, which he assumed would be scratchy against his delicate skin. Somehow, he feels even more naked now than he had before he put them on. He’s aware that he’s wearing clothing, but he feels completely bare. He glances up, and-

The mirror. He’s not quite facing it, but he can see a sliver of his reflection. One pale arm, a small strip of his leg, and right there… a hint of pink.

He can’t do this. He needs to change. Change out of… _this,_ and get back into his boxers. His loose, worn, ugly boxers. That’s what he wears. That’s what he gets to wear. That’s what he’s allowed to wear.

The thought leaves a bad taste in his mouth. No one’s ever told him he’s not allowed to wear something like this. But, he supposes, no one would have ever thought he’d _want_ to wear something like this, so it wasn’t necessary to tell him otherwise.

He’s practically standing in the mirror already. He can see the small patch of pink fabric against his hip. If he’s already gone this far…

Just a quick look. Out of curiosity. Then he’ll change. Knowing him, he’ll probably look fucking ridiculous anyway. His gangly, scar-covered body, squeezed into something cute and frilly… just thinking about it is laughable. He’ll take a quick look, have a good laugh at himself, and change. And it’ll all be over.

He can’t remember the last time he looked in a mirror in any state of undress, unless it’s to check on an injury. He’s not sure he’s _ever_ looked at himself in a mirror wearing this close to absolutely nothing. As expected, seeing that much of his body on display makes his face twitch, like a barely-contained wince.

It’s always been like this. From the moment he turned eleven and shot up what felt like three feet in the course of six months. When puberty hit, he was a bean pole, so tall and thin that he looked like a baby deer who was trying to learn how to walk. Every movement he made felt like it was at least eighty percent elbow, like his body wasn’t in his control, and the slightest mistake might accidentally stab someone through the stomach with his knobby knees. Once he grew up a bit, and started amassing muscle like his life depended on it (which, in some ways, it did), he assumed he’d fill out, and it’d be easier to look at himself.

And it was easier, for a little while.

But then things sort of… over-corrected.

Because ever since he put on all this muscle… that’s all there is. Muscles and runes and scars, and somewhere buried under all of that… Alec. It’s impossible for him to see his body and think of anything other than what he is: a Shadowhunter. A warrior. He’s proud of what he is, and what he does. He wouldn’t trade that for anything, he knows that for a fact. But sometimes he’s just… not sure where it ends. Because it’s all he can see. Hard edges, old injuries, strength, and, in some sense of the word, danger. His body doesn’t look like it’s _him_ anymore. It’s a tool, that he uses for a specific purpose. It’s a weapon. He looks like a weapon. He feels like a weapon.

As if it wasn’t awkward enough being so weirdly tall, now he’s bulky too. His broad shoulders, his strong arms, his tapestry of runes that he can’t see for anything other than their function, his scars - the permanent reminders of every time he’s failed, and everything he needs to improve, and then…

And then… pink lace. A little bow in the front. Soft fabric (satin, maybe?) hugging him close, cut to emphasize the shape of his hips.

Barely anything. The panties had looked small enough in his hands, but compared to the horribly vast expanse of his body, they’re downright _tiny._ They barely cover anything. And while the lace _is_ thick enough that you can’t see all the way through it… it certainly isn’t leaving anything to the imagination either. He can see the shape of his dick outlined in pink lace, clear as day. That’s part of himself that he’s certainly never spent a great deal of time gazing at in the mirror, and seeing it now, wrapped up in nice lingerie… it’s enough to make his face heat up again, as pink as the panties.

He shifts a little, just enough to see himself from the side. He sees the way his ass hangs out the back, and that should look horrible, shouldn’t it? Like he’s bursting out of too-small clothes. But somehow, it looks intentional, the way the fabric sweeps up so high, certainly not covering everything, but… accenting it.

They’re cut low enough on his hips that they don’t cover any of his runes. He’s unused to seeing this much of himself in general, but it’s especially different to see this part of him. In his boxers, if he ever catches a glimpse of himself, not very much is visible. But now, he can see the vee of his hips, and the flat span between them, and the small patch of hair trailing down from his belly button. He twists around again, and he can see the dip at the top of his ass, the lace just _barely_ not reaching high enough to cover it.

The panties are just one tiny patch on his horribly lanky body. They’re so small, and insignificant, they shouldn’t be able to have any effect whatsoever.

But…

The panties draw Alec’s gaze right to them, before anything else. Draw his eyes away from the muscle and the scars and everything else, right down to this small piece of something… pretty. Something that’s pretty, and even on _him,_ still looks pretty.

As his finger traces the shape of the bow, he realizes that weapons don’t wear cute underwear.

No matter what else he knows his body is, it doesn’t look dangerous when he’s wearing this scrap of pretty pink lace. He looks soft, and… harmless. He’s not a weapon in these. He’s a person. The harshness of his muscles, the severity of his face, it’s all softened by the delicacy of these panties.

And it’s…

By the Angel, it’s so nice.

He turns around again, wanting to see the way the muscles of his back disappear into the lace trim. He thought it would look ridiculous, the sharp contrast between his body and the lingerie. But it looks… sort of intentional. His muscles don’t look like they serve a harsher purpose right now. They just look… there. Like Alec keeps himself so vigorously in shape just for the sake of getting to see himself in little things like this.

He touches the panties again, both hands smoothing over the fabric, just to feel it. Nothing has ever felt this nice before. He’s never _enjoyed_ wearing anything before. He’s never even considered that he could. Clothes are functional. Clothes serve a purpose. He’s not supposed to care about clothes. As long as they keep him covered, that’s that. But now…

He thinks he finally understands why Magnus has so much of this stuff in the first place.

He touches the bow again, and finds himself smiling at the way it feels to drag his finger from the ribbon to the lace. The combination of feelings, the subtle differences-

Chairman Meow makes a sound from the bedroom, loud enough to carry into the closet. It’s a sleepy attempt at a meow that doesn’t quite get there. Then there’s scrambling, like he’s jumping off the bed and running out into the main room.

Alec turns away from the mirror, because the Chairman only meows when-

He hears the door open, and slam shut a few seconds later.

Shit.

“No, Chairman, you may not eat my shoes.”

 _Shit._ Magnus’s voice freezes Alec’s blood, ice crashing over him from head to toe. Shit. “Shit, shit, _fuck_ , shit-” Alec moves faster than he ever has, desperately groping for his jeans.

“Alexander? Are you here?” Footsteps approach the bedroom. The door to the closet is wide open.

“Yeah-” Alec chokes out, stuffing his legs into his jeans. His blood may be frozen, but his body is on fire, burning with the fear of being caught.

Mercifully, the panties are low enough that they’re easily hidden by his jeans, which hitch up at least a full inch higher on his hips than the lace trim. Even in his half-crazed panic, he’s careful as he pulls up the zipper, not wanting to get it caught in the lace. _Wearing_ Magnus’s underwear is horrible enough, _damaging_ it would be a death sentence.

“Y-yeah,” he forces himself to speak again, “I’m in here, I just- I w-” He wrestles his t-shirt over his head. “I’m getting dressed.” He realizes that makes no sense. “I… I j-just got out of the shower.”

He’s tugging his shirt down past the waistband of his jeans (desperate to put as many layers as possible between his hidden panties and Magnus’s eyes) when Magnus appears in the doorway. His mouth is open to speak, but he shuts it as soon as his gets a look at the disheveled closet. “Oh, goodness,” he grimaces. “Well, this is embarrassing.” He snaps with both hands, and the room is briefly covered by a blanket of blue sparks.

Clothing instantly starts flying back to its rightful spots, hangers shifting and drawers clicking shut. Alec almost _whimpers_ with the fear that the panties will respond to the magic and go flying off his body. But even though he feels the familiar whisper of heat that comes with Magnus’s magic, everything stays where it is.

In a manner of seconds, the closet is immaculate once again. Even Alec’s discarded towel is folded neatly on the dresser. Magnus spares a moment to give everything a once-over, making sure nothing was missed. Then, he gives the same once-over to Alec, and smiles.

“You’re home early,” Alec blurts, voice unsteady.

Magnus’s smile quirks a little in amusement. “Would you believe it: the Wall Street millionaire didn’t like my prices. When I kindly explained that I’m not in the habit of _haggling_ for my services, he abruptly decided that our meeting was over.” He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, head titled to the side. “And then he tried to sic his pet fox on me. Why did he have a pet fox? Who knows. Honestly, I think I dodged a bullet there. He didn’t seem like the most stable individual. Probably wouldn’t have been good business”

Alec tries to keep his face neutral as his mind scrambles for a way out of this. He could say he needs to use the bathroom, and change into his _own_ underwear in there… but he’d never be able to get a pair of boxers out of the drawer without Magnus noticing. Maybe Magnus will have something to do that’ll keep him away from Alec for a few minutes.

That’s it. He’d promised to cook dinner tonight. Actually _cook_ it, not magic up any part of it. That means a lot of time in the kitchen. Alec would definitely be able to sneak back in here and put everything back where it belongs.

Yeah. He can do this. This is fine. He’ll be fine. He just needs to make sure Magnus doesn’t try to get in his pants before dinner.

But Alec watches Magnus close his eyes for a quick moment, and then take a deep breath through his nose.

_Shit._

Fucking sandalwood.

In the blink of an eye, Magnus is there, like a moth drawn to a shampoo flame.

Magnus’s arms wrap around Alec’s waist, and he presses his face into the crook of Alec’s neck. It’s such a nice feeling that for a moment, Alec forgets to be terrified. Magnus takes in a long, deep smell, exhaling warm breath on Alec’s throat. One hand slips up the back of Alec’s shirt, pressing down with just a slight drag of manicured nails on his skin.

Alec hums, arching into the touch, his own hands curling around to rest on Magnus’s shoulder blades. He’s just wearing a purple silk button-up with dark gray pants, and it’s a plain enough outfit that Alec can only assume he’s already discarded some outrageous vest or blazer in the bedroom.

“It feels like I haven’t seen you in _weeks_ ,” Magnus murmurs as he scratches a long line down Alec’s back.

Alec laughs quietly, tilting his head so his lips brush against Magnus’s temple when he speaks. “That’s probably because you haven’t.”

Magnus makes a little sound against Alec’s neck. “I suppose that makes sense.” He parts his lips, kissing Alec’s throat before he’s even finished speaking.

Alec tries to control himself, because honestly, it’s just a little kiss. But a moan escapes him anyway, and his fingers tighten in Magnus’s shirt. He pushes back against Magnus’s nails, encouraging him to press harder.

But then Magnus’s hands trail further down, and Alec’s whole being kicks back into panic the moment he feels fingers brush his jeans.

“Magnus-” he jerks away from the touch, backing up so far he almost hits the mirror.

Magnus lets go immediately, hands falling to his sides. He looks surprised, but Alec’s absolute terror must not read on his face, because Magnus doesn’t pick up on it. Instead, he steps back in, effectively trapping Alec between his body and the mirror behind him. “Alec,” he says, in a playful mimic of Alec’s tone. He smirks, and his hands go right back to Alec’s hips. The way Alec struggles to take in a breath must seem like a sign of arousal, because Magnus skips all pretense and goes to undo Alec’s fly.

“Magnus, no-” Alec chokes on the words as he frantically pushes Magnus’s hands away.

Magnus immediately realizes that he’s misinterpreted something, and he takes a step back, hands held open in gentle surrender. “Is everything alright, Alexander?”

His voice is so soft, and so full of concern, it makes Alec want to scream with frustration. “I’m fine. It’s nothing.” He can hear how unconvincing he sounds, and can feel his hand start to tremble at his side.

Of course, Magnus notices. “Darling, it’s obviously not nothing.” He holds out his steady hand toward Alec’s shaking one, clearly offering to hold it. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

Magnus’s hand gets too close to Alec’s hip, and he jerks away again. Magnus looks almost _hurt_ by the rejection, and it’s too much for one person to bear, this whole thing, this whole thing is just ridiculous and stupid and he just wants it to be done so he can run back to the Institute and die in peace.

“I’m sorry-” It’s out of his mouth before he can stop it. And just like that, the dam breaks, and his brain starts vomiting out words while he can only listen with a distant horror. “I’m sorry, I- I took a shower and then I came in here to get my clothes and everything was everywhere and I found- it was just on the floor and I _know_ I should have just left it. I wasn’t trying to dig around in your stuff, I promise, I was just… looking. And I saw… and I put it on, and I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have, I know, and I’m sorry, Magnus, I’m so sorry.”

He hates every word of it. His voice sounds weak and uncertain, like it could break on any word. And it doesn’t make sense, he can _hear_ that none of it makes sense. And he feels so stupid, he feels so ridiculously stupid and childish for freaking out like this, for making such a stupid apology, for all of it. His mouth finally stops spewing nonsense, and all he can do is focus all his energy on keeping his stupid hand from shaking.

Magnus is just… looking at him. Brows knit with obvious confusion. Lips a little bit pursed as he tries to process Alec’s outburst. Then his eyes go to Alec’s hips, where his touch had been pushed away.

And Alec can actually _see_ the moment he figures it out. He steps in again, bringing them closer together, but still leaving Alec more space than he had before. His face is unreadable. He glances pointedly down at Alec’s jeans. “May I?” He meets Alec’s eyes.

Alec has to look away immediately. He’s already slowly dying of embarrassment; he really doesn’t need anything _more_ right now. But he brought this on himself. He doesn’t deserve to tell Magnus no. Against every impulse he has, he nods.

Magnus rests his hand against Alec’s hip, just a light touch. Then, almost painfully slowly, he dips the tip of one finger into Alec’s jeans. Alec can feel Magnus’s touch through the lace trim of the panties, almost making him shiver.

Magnus makes a small sound, and Alec doesn’t know what it means. “Can I see?” He asks quietly, this time not looking up.

It’s like he’s trying to make this as difficult as possible. Why is this lasting so long? Alec’s throat works, wanting to protest, but all he can do is nod again.

Magnus looks up at that. And he sees too much. He always does. “Alec, you can say no,” he says gently.

But he can’t. No matter how much Magnus may want to respect him right now, Alec knows he doesn’t deserve that. He needs to do whatever it takes to let this end. So he closes his eyes, and undoes the front of his jeans.

It must not be enough, because a few seconds later, he feels Magnus grip his waistband. And he starts gently tugging Alec’s jeans down his hips. Just enough to expose the panties.

And it’s stupid. It’s ridiculous. It’s idiotic and irrational and unfair - it’s _so fucking unfair_ that Alec can see Magnus wearing things like this and all he feels is desire, but the idea of Magnus seeing _him_ wearing these panties is so goddamn shameful that there are actual tears in his eyes. It’s not fair. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him. He doesn’t understand. And he hates himself for it.

“You need a different size.”

“What?” Alec’s eyes snap open. But he realizes they’re wet, and keeps them locked on the floor.

“The fit is acceptable, of course, but you can tell it’s not _quite_ right.” Magnus’s voice is quiet, and his fingers brush each spot where the fabric stretches too tight or bunches with extra room.

The floor’s not exactly spinning, but it feels ready to take off at any moment. Alec can’t quite get himself to breathe. “Magnus-”

“Alexander,” Magnus replies easily, cutting off whatever protest he knew Alec was going to make. His eyes are still fixed downward. Still fixed on Alec. And on the panties. Everything’s quiet for several moments. Then, Magnus breathes out, “ _Look_ at you.”

His voice is enough to make Alec’s stomach flutter. He opens his mouth to speak, but doesn’t know what to say. He wants to apologize again, to make Magnus _understand_ , but how the fuck can he do that when he doesn’t understand it himself?

Magnus traces one fingertip across the panties, right where the lace meets Alec’s skin. “You could have said something sooner,” he says gently, not accusing, just stating a fact.

“I didn’t know,” Alec says, and it sounds about as pathetic as it feels. “I’ve never wanted… before…”

Magnus gives a little hum of acknowledgement. He still hasn’t looked away, eyes following the trail of his finger. “This is one of my favorite pairs, you know.”

Alec looks at him, thinking that’s it, that’s the crossed line. If he’d picked a different pair, one Magnus didn’t care so much about, it’d be fine. Things are going too well; he can’t be this lucky.

Magnus’s touch gets a little firmer. “I mean, they’ve always been one of my favorites. Even _before_ I saw you in them.”

“Magnus-”

“Of course, I can’t even _imagine_ how much better it’d look if you were wearing _just_ them and nothing else-”

“ _Magnus._ ”

Magnus finally looks up at him. And… he’s got that smile. That little one, the one Alec’s only ever seen directed at him.

It starts to sink in. Everything’s fine.

Magnus places a hand on Alec’s cheek, the other still lightly stroking the lace beneath his hip. “Darling.” And because he seems to know what Alec is about to say, “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I should have asked,” Alec offers weakly, because he isn’t ready to be absolved.

“You _could_ have asked,” Magnus corrects. “But it’s hardly upsetting for me to come home to the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

Alec’s blush starts right in the center of his chest, and quickly spreads up to the tips of his ears. “That’s not true,” he protests, dropping his gaze back to the floor.

“Mm, I suppose you’re right. The Taj Mahal is quite nice.”

Alec sputters out a laugh before he can stop himself. He shouldn’t be this lucky. But he is. Because Magnus… gets it. Alec’s barely said anything, barely _understands_ anything, and Magnus still gets it. Alec isn’t quite sure what he was fearing, whether it was anger or disappointment or… possibly… ridicule. Not because of what he was wearing, but because of how much it matters. It’s underwear. It’s just fucking _underwear._ And somehow, just putting it on is so important that his hand is still shaking a bit. It shouldn’t matter. But it does.

And Magnus _gets_ it. Yeah, he’s joking a bit, but he’s still respecting how much this means to Alec. Alec knows his feelings are ridiculous, he _knows_ that, but Magnus isn't treating them that way. He respects that - even though it doesn’t make sense - this is important. He understands.

And if Magnus understands this much, then maybe…

Alec finally feels like he can breathe again.

“Wearing just these, huh?” His face still feels like it’s on fire, but it’s a different kind of blush now.

Magnus blinks in surprise, but recovers quickly, his smile twisting into a smirk. “Darling, the only reason I haven’t _ravished_ you already is because I’m trying to be polite.”

Alec’s mouth twitches into a small smile. “Yeah?”

Magnus moves in another step, leaving only the barest hint of space between their bodies. “Yeah.”

Alec takes a deep breath. It's all he can do at this point. Because everything’s just… settled. The rush of fear and shame and embarrassment has trickled out, and he feels… okay. He's in his boyfriend’s loft, jeans pushed down to his thighs, and he’s wearing nice, lacy, pink lingerie. And everything's okay.

Everything’s okay.

“Y’know, being polite is, um… kinda overrated.” It sounded smoother in his head, but lines like that usually do.

But Magnus looks _delighted,_ and his body sort of jerks, like he’s trying to keep himself from moving. “Why, Alexander, are you _flirting_ with me?”

Alec actually laughs at that. “I mean, I’m trying to get you to have sex with me, but I guess I’ll take what I can get.” He carefully places his hands on Magnus’s hips. They’re so close now that his hand brushes Magnus’s where it’s still softly touching the panties, and that hint of contact is electric.

Magnus grins at him. The hand on Alec’s cheek slips back, resting on the nape of his neck instead. Alec waits for him to speak, or move in, or kiss him, or _anything_ , by the Angel, he’s just _standing_ there while Alec feels like his skin is gonna burst into flames.

Alec’s just about ready to start begging - even though he doesn’t know what to beg _for_ \- when Magnus finally moves. He shifts his stance, just a bit. And then he raises himself onto the balls of his feet.

And Alec’s fucking _done for._ And Magnus knows it, which is just cruel of him, really. He _knows_ that there’s nothing that drives Alec crazier than seeing Magnus Bane, High Warlock of Brooklyn, get up on his tip-toes, just to put himself in Alec’s space.

As always, Alec is completely floored for a moment. Because it’s so undignified. With a snap of his fingers, Magnus could shrink Alec down to nothing, or raise himself up on a gold pedestal. But instead, he scoots himself up on his toes like his own power is completely inconsequential, like getting his face closer to Alec’s is the only thing that matters, and it’s…

It’s so fucking _cute,_ Alec doesn’t know what to do with himself.

It only lasts a moment though, because Magnus’s expression makes it fucking clear that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and obviously Alec needs to kiss that smug smile right off his face. But Magnus isn’t the only one who can be a little shit, so Alec leans down, enough that the slightest movement will bring their lips together - and then pulls back again, raising himself to his full height, getting his lips just out of Magnus’s reach.

Magnus spares a moment to look absolutely devastated, lips still parted in preparation. Then he’s grinning at Alec, and Alec is grinning right back. And with his patience officially dried up, Magnus pulls Alec in by the back of his neck. Even if he wanted to, Alec wouldn’t have time to break away before Magnus is kissing him, softly, but so, _so_ certain.

Alec finds that he doesn’t have much patience left either as he tightens his hold on Magnus’s hips, tugging him in so they finally close that last hair of distance between their bodies. And…

_Oh._

He doesn’t know how one tiny kiss could distract him enough that he forgot what he’s wearing. But feeling Magnus press up against his cock - which is only covered by a scrap of _lace_ \- is certainly enough to remind him. The sensation shouldn’t feel as new, as different, as unfamiliar as it does. But it’s… Alec’s breath hitches in his throat. It’s _exquisite,_ the light scrape of the soft lace against his skin. It feels somehow filthy, like a dirty secret, one only he and Magnus know. And in a way, he supposes it is.

And he needs more of it. He keeps his firm grip on Magnus’s hips as he grinds against him, and when Magnus gasps quietly against his mouth, he uses the opportunity to finally deepen the kiss. He catches Magnus’s lower lip between his teeth, bites down sharply, then brushes his tongue over it to soothe the sting.

Magnus _melts_ against him, and Alec can swear he hears the tiniest whine get stuck in his throat. He finally takes his hand away from Alec’s hip, wrapping it around his neck instead, using the leverage to pull himself up even higher. The sudden shift sends Alec teetering backward, and his back bumps against the mirror. Magnus doesn’t seem to mind, and immediately seals his body to Alec’s, pressing him against the mirror so firmly that Alec can physically _feel_ all the smudge marks their skin must be leaving on the surface.

“W-wa… wait- Mags, wait-” Alec struggles to garble the words out in between kisses.

Magnus pulls back instantly, finally lowering himself back onto his heels. He looks like he’s about to apologize for going too far or too fast.

Alec stops him with a smile. “I just need room to-” he reaches back and starts to tug his shirt off over his head. But he’s still pressed against the mirror tight enough that he can’t quite figure out how to wrestle the shirt off his arms. With his head still stuck in the fabric, he feels Magnus grab the hem, helping him wriggle out of it before tossing it to the floor.

The moment his chest is bared, Magnus dives back in, pulling him down and kissing him so deeply that Alec can feel it burn in the soles of his feet. His hands roam across Alec’s skin, never settling in one spot. One moment, Magnus’s tongue feels like it’s halfway down Alec’s throat, and the next it’s on his neck, tracing the shape of the rune there, occasionally pausing to kiss and nip at it instead.

Blood is rushing in so many different directions in Alec’s body that thinks he might just… fall over. The blush still hasn’t quite cooled from his face, and between that and his erection (which is growing at an almost embarrassing rate), there’s nowhere near enough blood left for the rest of him. He’s not sure if that’s why he feels so light-headed, or if he’s just that overwhelmed.

He gets another vivid reminder of his current underwear situation when he realizes that these tiny panties aren’t quite as… _accommodating_ as his boxers. They clearly weren’t made to deal with a dick that’s planning on going anywhere. For a moment, he’s clueless, glancing down helplessly at the rather noticeable bulge in the delicate lingerie.

Magnus doesn’t even need to tear his lips away from Alec’s chest. He just slips his hand into the panties, quickly adjusting Alec’s erection so it’s pressed against his stomach.

Alec promptly forgets how to breathe. Not only because of the brief friction against his cock, but because he glances down again…

The panties ride low enough on his hips that with his cock adjusted like this, part of it sticks out above the lace. The pink fabric that had looked so colorful before suddenly looks completely washed out in comparison to his burning red skin. He chokes a little, on a sound that was either meant to be a gasp or a groan, he’s not really sure.

Magnus pulls away, just far enough to notice Alec’s astounded expression. All of the touches stop, and Alec’s not sure whether he’s relieved or devastated. But Magnus clearly has a plan in mind, because he takes Alec's hand and starts backing up, tugging him out toward the bedroom.

Even walking backwards, Magnus looks too graceful to be real. Meanwhile, Alec still has his jeans bunched up around his thighs, and has to waddle out after him. Magnus apparently finds this _highly_ amusing, which is infuriating.

“Magnus-” Alec starts, but he’s cut off as Magnus suddenly spins them around, and the backs of Alec’s legs are pressed against the foot of the bed. Part of him wants to maintain at least a trace of his dignity, but a much bigger part of him wants this to escalate as quickly as possible, so he lets himself be pushed back onto the bed.

Magnus reaches down, snaking his fingers through Alec’s belt loops. Alec gets the idea, and lifts his hips so Magnus can tug his jeans off his legs. Magnus is so worked up that the jeans disappear in a crackle of blue, and he glances down at his empty hands for a moment, clearly startled.

He hums quietly, and shrugs. “I’m sure they’re still here somewhere.”

Alec laughs as he scoots backward on the silk bed sheets, until he’s nestled in the _stupidly_ big pile of throw pillows amassed against the headboard. He lies back, spreading out along the bed, and spares another glance down at himself. He’s just in the panties now, which stand out even more against the covers (which are deep blue today). He looks somehow even longer and leaner than usual from this angle, but… he doesn’t mind. Because he still looks like a person, not a thing. Because he still looks… pretty. He glances up-

Magnus is standing at the foot of the bed. His eyes are raking up and down Alec’s body, slowly, over and over again, and they-

They flicker. The glamour starts to fade, irises brightening from brown to gold as the pupils narrow. Magnus is wound up enough that he can’t even spare the energy to maintain his falsely human-looking eyes.

Just because he’s _looking_ at Alec.

The High Warlock of Brooklyn, reduced to desperation, because of _him._

Heat is already pooling in Alec’s gut, and Magnus isn’t even touching him. Because he’s feeling bold - and because he absolutely _needs_ Magnus to stop looking at him like that - he smiles, and spreads his legs a little. An obvious invitation.

Magnus groans, but wastes no time kneeling on the bed and crawling over Alec. He settles between Alec’s legs, leaning over him so his variety of necklaces dangle onto Alec’s chest. He shifts his weight so he can run one hand through Alec’s hair, still the slightest bit damp from his shower.

Alec looks up at him, heart beating so hard that he feels his pulse in each of his fingers. Because he’s not sure how much longer he can stand seeing Magnus looking at him like this. Soft, and ardent, it’s like… adoration. And he doesn’t know what to do with that.

But Magnus doesn’t look away. Instead, he smiles, the tiniest hint of a smile. “I love you, Alexander.”

Alec sucks in a breath. His heart skips a beat, then makes up for it by dropping into his stomach. “Magnus-” his voice wavers, and he’s not sure it’ll hold.

Magnus is kissing him before he can say anything else. But Alec can’t handle _not_ responding to that - he never can - so he manages to tilt his face just far enough to gasp, “I love you too,” against Magnus’s cheek.

He can feel Magnus smile against his face, but then he pulls away. Alec’s confused by the loss, and raises his head to try and chase after him. Then he drops it back down to the pillows as he watches Magnus shift back down the bed on his hands and knees, ducking to press wet, sloppy kisses all over Alec’s torso as he goes.

He stops right when he gets to Alec’s hips. He looks up at him, craning his neck so Alec can _see_ his face as he dips his head and-

And mouths at Alec’s cock _through_ the panties. Hot, damp breath absolutely covers him, with the lace doing next to nothing to mute the feeling. Alec cries out, wanting to throw his head back but not willing to look away from Magnus. His back arches instead, as he just lies there and _watches_ Magnus work his way up his cock, tonguing at lace until he reaches the exposed head and sucks it into his mouth.

“By the _Angel!”_ Alec gasps, gripping the sheets until his knuckles whiten.

Magnus breaks away for a moment to laugh, resting his hands on Alec’s hips. He smirks up at him, looking like sin itself. “What do you want?”

Alec almost rolls his eyes. Because _this._ Always this. Things were going perfectly well before Magnus interrupted with this.

Trying to express his desires in bed isn’t a nerve-wracking impossibility (like it was for the first _several_ months they were together), but it’s still difficult to look Magnus in the eye and ask for something like this. Usually, Magnus asks when things are a bit more frantic, so Alec can hide his face against Magnus’s and whisper even the filthiest of things while the need is tugging at him the most. But exposed like this, he feels a stab of embarrassment under Magnus’s steady gaze.

Luckily, for now, his most urgent desire is simple enough. “Kiss me?” he chokes out, mouth dry. Because while he certainly wouldn’t say no to a blowjob, Magnus is too far away. He wants to feel Magnus’s weight on top of him, grounding him to the bed.

Magnus takes a quick moment to look surprised before he practically shoots back up the bed. He covers Alec’s body with his own as completely as he can, framing his face with both hands and kissing him like his life depends on it.

Alec’s not ashamed to whimper in Magnus’s mouth. Again, and again. His hands go straight to Magnus’s back, wrapping his arms around him tighter than is really necessary.

Magnus grinds down against him. And Alec realizes that while he’s wearing basically nothing, Magnus has only taken off his shoes. Magnus’s fully-clothed body rubs down against his nearly-naked one, and somehow it’s… it’s dirty. In a way he can’t really explain. But it makes him push up frantically against Magnus while he continues to kiss him stupid.

When he _finally_ pauses to catch his breath, Magnus nuzzles his nose against the curves of Alec’s face. “Anything else?”

Alec _does_ roll his eyes this time. He doesn’t have the patience for this. He grabs one of Magnus’s hands and brings it right down to his cock.

Magnus laughs brightly even as he struggles for air, but takes the hint anyway. He slips his hand inside the panties. There’s barely enough room in there as it is, but Magnus finds a way to get a good grip on Alec’s cock. And he starts stroking. Tight, and almost unbearably slow, the way that he _knows_ will leave Alec a trembling mess.

“F- _ah_ \- fuck… yeah…” Alec gasps, arching into the touch.

Magnus moans - like he always does when he hears Alec curse. Then he shifts, so he’s not directly over Alec anymore. He slots their legs together instead, and Alec can feel how hard Magnus is against his hip. But then Alec glances down, and realizes why Magnus made the adjustment. Like this, they can both see what’s happening.

Alec can see Magnus’s hand moving on his cock, pink lace straining and making the most amazing contrast against the brown of Magnus’s skin. Alec can see his body in the panties, being pleasured, and loved. It’s almost too much.

“So beautiful, Alexander. You’re _so_ beautiful.”

Alec has to close his eyes. He can’t handle seeing this _and_ hearing Magnus say things like that. He doesn’t think _anyone_ could handle that.

Magnus shifts a little again, this time cozying himself up against Alec’s side. Alec feels the brief heat of Magnus’s magic against his skin, and suddenly his cock is covered in the lube they keep in the nightstand. Magnus’s hand makes an _obscene_ sound as he starts to stroke faster, tighter, wetter-

Alec’s pretty convinced he’s not going to survive this.

Magnus brings his mouth to Alec’s ear, licking delicately along the shell of it before whispering, “The things I want to do to you, Alexander.” He gives a breathy chuckle. “You know, with the right lingerie, I could make love to you without even having to take it off.”

Alec makes a noise like he’s dying.

Because that thought… just the _thought_ … that he could have Magnus inside him while still getting to wear something like this, still getting to _feel_ the way he feels while he’s wearing it… he’s never been so turned on in his life. He thinks about finding panties that he could just… shift out of the way, or even the ones with the hole that had seemed so unspeakably scandalous when he’d seen them earlier, or maybe even _these_ … he shifts his legs experimentally, trying to see if he could spread his thighs wide enough to let Magnus fuck him. Maybe if he just pulled them down a little-

Oh, shit. _Fuck._

He realizes how little he’d have to pull them down to free his cock enough to fuck Magnus. It’s intoxicating. It’s too good to be _real_. The thought of how _easy_ it would be, either to have or be had… all while wearing gorgeous underwear.

It’s almost funny. It had taken him so long to get comfortable enough to be naked with Magnus. And now the idea of having sex with clothes still _on_ is getting him so hot he’s surprised that he hasn’t melted into a puddle.

Magnus’s hand just keeps speeding up, and he’s tugging Alec’s earlobe between his teeth, and with these _thoughts_ practically smothering him-

“Magnus… w- s-st… ‘m gonna…” he can’t get his voice to work, but he needs to warn him. Indulging Alec like this was one thing, but he can’t imagine Magnus would be too pleased with Alec making a mess all over his nice lingerie. And he can’t stop it. It feels like his whole body is coiling into his gut, everything getting hotter and hotter and _hotter…_

“Are you going to come for me, Alec?” Magnus practically purrs, hand not slowing down at all.

Alec tries to nod, but, well… _fuck._ He can’t get his body to do anything but writhe on the sheets.

Magnus groans, right in Alec’s ear. “Yes, come on. Let go.” His hand speeds up. “Want you to feel it, want you to feel _so good._ Please, Alexander, _please_ come for me.”

And, really, how is he supposed to refuse _that?_

Alec doesn’t want to look away, but his eyes squeeze shut as he comes with a long, loud sound that he will adamantly swear is _not_ a sob. His whole body goes tense, and he can hear Magnus continue  _moaning_ encouragements into his ear.

When he finally goes limp on the bed, gasping, whimpering on every exhale, everything feels distant. He feels exhausted, even though he’s done literally _nothing_ but lie there and be useless. Magnus is covering Alec’s cheek in gentle kisses, one hand carding slowly through his hair. Once Alec manages to crack his eyes open again, he glances down, trying to see the state of Magnus’s _other_ hand-

It’s just as bad as he thought. While most of his come seems to have spattered either on Magnus’s hand or Alec’s stomach, there’s definitely some on the panties. A wet, horrible _mess_ on such beautiful lace.

Magnus pulls his hand out of the panties just as Alec’s opening his mouth to apologize. Before he can even start to stutter out a word, Magnus _wipes_ his hand all the way across the front of them. Alec’s come gets smeared everywhere, on the lace, the ribbon, the amazingly soft fabric. Alec chokes on his own breath. Because Magnus isn’t just cleaning the mess off his hand, he’s running his fingers back and forth, rubbing Alec’s come into the panties.

Even though he’s _just_ finished, Alec feels like he could already get hard again.

Magnus moves. He’s snuggling himself closer to Alec, into a position that signifies cuddling rather than fooling around. But the shift is enough to remind Alec of the erection Magnus is still pressing against his hip.

Alec works his throat for a moment, wanting to make sure his voice won’t crack before he speaks. “Do you want me to…?” He nudges his hip against Magnus just enough to clarify his meaning.

Magnus kisses the corner of his jaw. “I’m fine. That was just for you, darling.”

Alec turns his head to face him. Because Magnus knows how much Alec _hates_ to leave him wanting.

Magnus gives a tired laugh. “Don’t worry, the night is still young. And I intend to make _good_ use of this,” he traces his finger over the shape of Alec’s stamina rune.

Though he fights it, Alec can still feel himself blushing. But he decides not to argue. Instead, he leans in to rest his forehead against Magnus’s, closing his eyes, and finally focusing on getting his breath back. He can feel his sweat and come cooling on his skin, but the warmth of Magnus pressed against his side is enough to keep him comfortable.

Several minutes pass before Magnus breaks the satisfied silence. “So, I take it a shopping spree is in order.”

Alec frowns, opening one eye. “Huh?”

“Believe what you will about how I acquire my possessions, Alexander. But I do actually _buy_ my clothes. In person. From a store. With money.” He’s smiling, and his hand goes back to playing with Alec’s hair. “And while I’m not entirely opposed to the principle of sharing, I can’t have my boyfriend walking around in ill-fitting lingerie, can I?”

“Magnus.”

“Imagine how much nicer it’ll feel to have a pair that’s actually your size. That you picked out. An entire _collection,_ even.”

“Magnus, I can’t-”

“Of _course_ you can, Alec.” Magnus’s voice gets more serious, but still stays gentle. “Who’s going to know? You have no idea how amazing it feels to have something like this hidden under your clothes. Just for you.” He glances down to the panties, then slowly drags his gaze up to meet Alec’s. “Under your clothes. Under your gear, even. Out on a mission. You can still have this,” his fingers graze the panties, now ruined with Alec’s come, “you can still feel like this, and no one has to know but you.”

Alec takes a deep breath. That idea…

The way he felt when he looked in the mirror. When his body felt like _his_ again. When he was allowed to have something so delicate and pretty.

Having _that,_ all the time. Hidden under his jeans. His threadbare, functional, ugly jeans… hiding silk and pastels and _beauty_ …

“I don’t know what size I am,” he says quietly. “I don’t know how sizes work for… this.”

Magnus _beams_ at him. “I’ll help you.”

Alec smiles back, feeling a flutter of excitement. The prospect of going to a _store_ to buy something like this is more than a little terrifying, but he knows it’ll be worth it. So, so worth it.

But… until then…

“Can I… uh, just, you know, just for tonight. Could I… keep wearing these ones?”

There’s a pause. Then, Magnus kisses him. Soft, and slow, and sweet.

“Anything you want, Alexander.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, I planned on writing a very short fic about lingerie. But then I realized how many feelings I have about Alec Lightwood, and here we are. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! I'd love to hear from you, either here or on [my tumblr blog](http://my-nameless-bliss.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Satin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11380599) by [Lilian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilian/pseuds/Lilian)




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